The Best Laid Plans
by ArixaBell
Summary: Russia decides to kidnap America. Things don't go exactly as planned, since you can't really kidnap the willing. Eventual RusAme
1. Chapter 1

_Russia decides to kidnap America. Things don't go exactly as planned, since you can't really kidnap the willing._

_Pff, I wrote this ages ago and forgot about it. XD I couldn't even hazard a guess when I'll update further, but yeah. _

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Shoulders sagging, Russia tugged his party hat off and tossed it onto a chair. Nobody was coming. Nobody ever came to celebrate his birthday, either, but that was in the middle of winter. He couldn't blame them. But it was almost summer! Oh sure, the party was not celebrating anything in particular, but that never stopped the other nations. They loved a fun get-together, especially if booze was involved. He had sent invitations to everybody months ago (except Belarus... she would have come, hence him not sending her an invite).

It was no use. They just... didn't like him. They were afraid of him, that was the problem. He didn't even need to do anything, just smile politely, and the other nations would quiver in fear, or run away. Even England, who had once been the terror of the seas. Even _France_ wept in fear when he groped Russia. With a sigh, he turned off the music and started taking down the streamers.

If he just had one friend... one friend to stay with him. Who wouldn't be a trembling ball of goo every time Russia approached.

A plan started forming in Russia's mind as he cleared away the untouched snacks and drinks. If he only had _one person_ with him, everything would be so much brighter. Nobody would come willingly, but he could get around that. Now the only problem was... which one did he pick? Whom could he convince to not be terrified of him?

There was that one... a northern nation. What was his name? He was nice enough, on the occasion Russia noticed him around. Would he work? No... no he wouldn't. He had a crazy brother who would jump at the chance to rescue him with lots of big weapons, and...

Wait. What _about_ that idiot brother? America was not afraid of Russia. Not at all. While the others quivered in terror in his presence, America just had a snarky comment or two. He stood his ground. He looked Russia in the eye when they spoke. He even _smiled_ at Russia on occasion when he wasn't being a jerk.

Russia's own smile grew. America was a _perfect_ choice! He would be harder to keep captive, but that was what made him so perfect. Russia could think of no other nation he could consider his equal.

There was a meeting soon. It would be the perfect time to make his move.

* * *

The plan had been set into motion.

The first order of business had been to make sure America stuck around after everyone else had left. Not an easy task, he was usually the first one out the door once the meeting was over. Russia had spent way too much time plotting that one simple, first task. Each plan he came up with was more complex than the last. His schemes to keep the American alone in the meeting hall were worthy of Hollywood.

In the end, he had ditched them all. Too many of them depended on America cooperating, doing what he was supposed to. Not a good idea. In the end, Russia had simply sent him an anonymous note telling him to stay put after the meeting.

Sure enough, the dumbest of his plans worked like a charm. The rest of the nations filed out, but America remained in his chair, looking around like an eager puppy. He remained there for about five minutes before standing, moving over to one of the large windows to look out while he waited.

A car waited outside, to transport them to Russia's waiting private jet. The jet would take them home, where he had a special America-proof little room waiting. It was all so perfect. First, though, he had to render him unconscious... He had briefly considered knocking him out with a well-placed fist or pipe, but rejected that idea quickly. He didn't want to _damage_ his guest. And so, Russia silently crept up behind America, chloroform-soaked rag in hand. The young nation had no idea he was there until it was too late, and one arm was wrapped around him, the other pressing the rag to his face. There was a struggle; they twisted around in a mockery of a dance.

The plan could have worked. Things would have turned out a lot differently. But alas, Russia had forgotten one rather _important_ detail about America. He remembered what it was the instant he went airborne, sailing in an arc over America's head, to crash to the ground on his back.

"Ow."

"Russia?" America's face came into view, upside down. He was smiling rather sheepishly. "Sorry. Reflex. What are you doing?"

"Ow."

"Were you trying to kidnap me?" he asked, casual as could be.

"...No."

"You totally were, man. Not cool." America moved around Russia and (quite easily) helped him to his feet. He didn't seem as upset as Russia would have predicted under the circumstances. "Are you okay?"

Russia rubbed his back, wincing. "I'm fine." What did he do now?

"You could have just asked."

"What?"

"If you wanted me to visit you, stupid."

Russia frowned. He had no idea what was going on in America's brain, but that was clearly a lie. "If that were true, you would have come to my party. I invited everybody."

"Everybody?" America tilted his head. "Not me. Where'd you send the invitation?"

Could that be true? "Ah... via the White House?"

"Well, there's the problem!" America clapped Russia on the back, and he winced again. What was with this sudden camaraderie? "My boss and all them, they... frown upon me attending parties. And especially throwing parties, but also attending. They wouldn't relay any invitations to me."

"That is unusual. I did not know you let your boss have so much control over your personal life."

"Well..." America rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's just say that the War of 1812 was easier on the White House than I am when I'm wasted."

"Is that so?" Russia mentally filed the 'get America drunk' plan into the 'only in case of emergency' folder. "So... you really would have come?"

"Sure, buddy!"

Buddy...? Okay, so Russia and America hadn't had a private chat in a very long time, but how had he changed _this_ much? Had that alien friend of his switched Americas? "You, uh... you don't hate me?"

"Hate you?" America gave him a perplexed look. "Why would I hate you? The Cold War's been over for a while now, big guy."

"Um... but..."

"You think I hold grudges that long?"

Russia stared at him. "I just..."

"So shall we go?" America chirped. Russia was having a hard time keeping up with him.

"Go?"

"You wanted to kidnap me, right?" America rubbed his chin, expression growing thoughtful. "Oh, right. I'm supposed to be unconscious now."

"Well, that was... ah!" America's eyes had rolled comically back in his head, and he slumped over. He would have fallen to the floor had Russia not caught him. "What are you _doing_?"

A single blue eye cracked open. "It would take a lot of skill and planning to kidnap the US of A," America whispered. "The first step backfired on you, but I imagine the rest of the plan was brilliant. I'd hate for all that planning to go to waste." The eye closed again, and America resumed his feigned unconsciousness.

"I will never understand you..." Russia slung his 'victim' over his shoulder. He remained limp all throughout. Confident that the others had already left (since he had watched them leave), Russia made his way outside to the waiting getaway vehicle. A pair of eyes, though, did watch him go.

* * *

America remained limp and lifeless for the duration of the long flight. He was a surprisingly good actor, considering the quality of the Hollywood movies Russia had seen. He didn't even break character to eat or drink anything, or use the restroom. It was a strange thing for him to show such commitment to.

At long last, they touched down at Sheremetyevo International. Russia's luggage would be delivered for him, so all he had to worry about was hauling America out. Would it kill his 'captive' to cooperate a little? Fortunately, he safely reached the waiting car without tripping or dropping his kidnappee, or anything embarrassing like that. And finally, _finally_, they arrived at Russia's house, and he was able to dump America into a chair. Russia bent over to catch his breath. America was certainly not light as a feather. He would need to keep that in mind if he ever actually did kidnap somebody someday, for whatever reason.

A pair of sky-blue eyes slowly opened, and their owner looked around in bleary surprise. "Wh-where am I...?"

Russia had to smile. "You are dedicated."

America winked. "Shouldn't I be tied up?"

"Are you going to escape?"

"No, but... wouldn't you have tied me up? Hey, do you have a place for me to stay?"

"Ah..." He did, but it would not be suitable for a willing guest. "I might need to make a few changes."

"Nah, I'm sure whatever you have is fine." America hopped to his feet and wandered off. It was only after a surprised moment that Russia thought to chase after him. But by then, he had already lost track of where his guest had gone.

"A-America? Where did you go?"

"In here!"

After his former housemates had left, Russia had kept their rooms exactly as they were. For nostalgia's sake. Including Belarus', whom he had had to be a bit more forceful about leaving. And it was from that room that America's voice emerged.

"No, America, that is not..." He trailed off as he walked through the doorway. America was already making himself at home, hanging his jacket on the back of a chair and kicking off his shoes.

"Nice room! You did a good job getting it ready. Not very prisoner-like, though. A little on the frilly side..." He picked something up and turned to Russia, expression worried. He was holding a bra. "Really, Russia, what _did_ you have planned?"

Russia licked his dry lips. "This is my sister's old room. I suppose you can stay here if you like it."

"Oh." America tossed the bra aside. "Let me see where you were going to stash me."

"Very well." Russia led the way down the hall, toward the plain, locked door at the end. He opened each of the locks, and pushed the door open, standing aside to let America through. Inside was a simple bed, a television, a shelf of comic books, and an attached bathroom. The only windows were tiny and close to the ceiling.

"Aww..." America ran a finger along the comics. "That was sweet of you, giving your prisoner something to do. And a TV, even!"

"Thank you. I am glad you appreciate it."

"I'll stay here!" America plopped onto the bed. "I'll get my things from the other room later, I guess."

"You are sure?" Russia looked around. It was a very small, uninteresting room. "You can stay where you like."

"You went to all this trouble!" America stretched out his long legs. "I think I might wander around for a while, if that's okay. I'm a _little_ cramped after that flight."

"Of course."

"And don't be surprised if I end up in bed with you."

"What?" Russia could only stare, shock coursing through him. What was... was he really saying... what?

America pointed at the television. "If some creepy ass Russian movie comes on."

"Oh."

"I'd have to protect you."

"Right."

"So!" America sauntered past Russia, out of the room, stretching his legs every few steps. "I guess I'll see you around, roomie."

"Da. Of course."

Russia had never felt such a loss of control over a situation.


	2. Chapter 2

_Short chapter is short. ^^;_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

The phone rang early. Way too early. Russia had a feeling he knew what it would be about, as he reached for the bedside lamp then picked up the phone. The caller ID indicated Canada. Who was... ohh, right. Well, better than England, he supposed. He answered with a polite greeting, wincing at the worry in the other nation's voice.

"We can't find America _anywhere_," Canada said, and Russia could practically hear him pacing around. "He just disappeared after the meeting. Nobody can get a hold of him. Have you heard from him?"

"I am sorry," Russia said gently. "I have not. But I will let you know the moment I hear anything."

He hung up, turned out the light, snuggled back down in his blankets. And he was just about to doze off when it hit him like a bucket of water. He sat straight up with a strangled cry.

What had he _done?_ He had lied! When he didn't even _need_ to! He hadn't kidnapped America, America was his guest! Just because the idiot wanted to play along didn't mean Russia should... incriminate himself!

Goddammit _so much_. And damn whatshisname for calling so early...

* * *

It was past noon when Russia's "prisoner" finally wandered into the kitchen, still wearing—Russia looked away quickly—only his boxers. He hadn't exactly had time to pack pajamas, of course. Russia would have to head to the store and purchase some clothing in his size. America had missed breakfast, but Russia hadn't really expected him. He always had been a late riser, and a time difference of eight or so hours took some getting used to.

"Mornin', y'all," America said, still sounding half asleep.

Russia threw him a perplexed look. "Excuse me?"

America tilted his head, smiling. "Good morning."

"Did you address me in plural form?"

"Oh." America's laugh was hearty. "No, no, silly. The _plural_ would be 'all y'all'."

"I see." Just when Russia thought he understood English...

"So what's for breakfast? Er..." America noticed the clock on the wall. "Lunch?"

"A lot," Russia warned. "I like a big lunch."

America spread his hands. "Hello. Did we just meet?"

"Ah. Right. Sorry." Russia scooped a generous amount of food onto plates and bowls and set everything down on the table. He was a little relieved that America wasn't insisting on gruel, or some other prisoner food.

"Thanks, big guy!"

Russia tried not to scowl. There was that somewhat rude endearment again. Well, two could play at that game. "You're welcome, little one."

America winced, but smiled anyway as he dug into the food. Russia poured himself a drink to go with lunch and settled down across from his odd guest. They ate in silence for about two minutes.

"So I've got a Moscow in the US," America commented idly. He paused, chewing on his lip in thought. "Like, fifteen or sixteen of them, actually."

Russia's lips curved. "Yes, I know."

"And a couple Saint Petersburgs."

"I know. Our Saint Petersburgs are twin cities."

America nodded. "The one in... er..." He trailed off, and Russia could have sworn a tinge of pink dusted his cheeks.

"Florida," Russia supplied.

"Y-yeah."

"I would like to see yours someday. I shall have to visit Florida."

America's mumbled response was undecipherable. He did, however, seem to grow redder. This was quite the change from the take-charge America who had burst into Russia's home as a 'captive'. It was... cute?

"Anyway!" America said quickly, stabbing something with his fork. "So, uh. What made you pick me?"

Russia took a sip of his vodka. "Excuse me?"

"You know... to kidnap." He grinned. "Why me?"

"Oh." Russia swirled the liquid in his glass around, thinking back to the train of thought that had led to his plan. "Well, I was lonely."

"Yes?"

"And I knew nobody would come stay with me willingly."

America looked amused. "So kidnapping was the answer?"

Russia shrugged. "Yes."

His dining companion leaned closer, smile growing. "And you decided you wanted me?"

"Well, I thought about my options." Russia paused to have a bit of soup, not noticing the smile fade a little. "Since nobody likes me, I realized I didn't have many. But then I remembered that one guy who's nice. The one above you? Your brother?"

America stared at him. "Canada? You were initially going to kidnap _Canada_?"

"I only thought about it briefly. I realized that you would come rescue him, and that wouldn't work. So that was how I ended up thinking about you. And I realized you would be the best choice. Because you're my equal, and aren't mean or terrified of me, and you would be... Where are you going?"

America didn't answer. He left the rest of his lunch behind as he stormed off toward his room, leaving a very confused Russia sitting alone at the table.

* * *

"You called everyone?" England said, forehead creased in worry. Canada and Japan nodded. "Where did he _go_?" What a bizarre thing. Where could America have gone? He hadn't returned to the hotel, nor gotten on his flight. Nobody they had contacted had seen him after the meeting. He wasn't answering his phone. They had figured out that the last one to leave would have been Russia, but he hadn't seen him, either. They were holding off on calling his boss so as not to cause a panic, but...

"I still think he got lost," France said. "And dropped his phone."

"Even he could figure out how to get to the airport," England grumbled.

"China did say he _thought_ he saw America later at the hotel," Canada said.

"That was you!"

"Oh."

England's phone rang, and everyone stared at it for a breathless moment before he answered it. "Hallo?" When there was no excited exclamation of the missing nation's name, they sagged in disappointment. "Uh huh. I see. Interesting... Yes, come on over. What _price _are you talking about, exactly? Whatever, just come over." He hung up and tossed the phone aside.

"Well?" France said.

England scratched his head. "That was Prussia."

"Prussia?" Japan tilted his head. "He wasn't even at the meeting."

"No, but apparently he already knows about the situation. He said he has some interesting information on America, for a price."

"What a vulgar man," France said with a sniff.

"Better than nothing," England said, and the four nations waited for the ex-nation's arrival.


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Feeling a bit lost, and not a little confused, Russia knocked on the door of the "cell" he had prepared before his prisoner's arrival. "Ah.. America? Are you in there?" He could just open it if he so chose. After all, the door only locked from the outside. "Are you okay?" Maybe lunch had not agreed with him. He did not have the most varied diet in the world, foreign food might give him an upset stomach or something.

"Go away," said America's muffled voice.

So he was in there. And sounded unhappy. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Then let me in."

"No."

Okay, being polite was getting them nowhere. Russia opened the door. "America?"

He was laying back in bed, reading one of the provided comic books, pausing to scowl up at Russia when he barged in. "Do you mind?"

"You're the captive," Russia reminded him. "I can come and go as I please."

America mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

America sat up with an exasperated sigh. "I _said_ that I'm only your captive because none of the others you wanted worked out!"

Russia blinked. "What?"

"You didn't want to kidnap me." He tossed the comic aside. "You wanted anyone. You wanted Canada. I was an afterthought."

Russia stared at him in disbelief. Was he seriously upset about _that_? "America, that's... you..." What an odd thing. Who got upset about not being the immediate choice for a kidnapping? Though if he were truly unhappy, wouldn't he have just left? Russia would never understand him...

America wasn't answering. Russia didn't want things to stay like this, so he sought desperately for something to say that would fix, or at least improve the situation, but came up blank. "Um." America was retrieving his comic, probably ready to tune him out. Russia blurted the first thing that came to mind. "You were my first and only choice for kidnapping! I just didn't realize it right away."

America paused, eyes roving back up to Russia. "Really?" he said. "Does that even make sense?"

Russia nodded, though he honestly had no idea. "I thought you hated me. That's why I didn't think of you right away. Your brother doesn't, he's always been polite. That's all. If I'd known you didn't hate me, nobody else would have even crossed my mind." Russia had no idea what the hell he was saying. If he'd thought America really genuinely _liked_ him, he might not have tried kidnapping in the first place...

But America seemed placated. What in the _world_? "Well... okay. Promise you won't capture anybody else?"

"Ah... right. Of course. I promise."

"Okay, good!" America bounded to his feet, as if nothing had happened, leading the way back to the kitchen.

Russia followed, shaking his head in bewilderment. His guest was already diving back into lunch by the time he walked in, only a moment after. "So. We're, ah..." What would America say? "Cool?"

"Right! We're cool now."

"Good." Crisis averted, Russia rejoined him at the table. Mostly done with his own meal, he simply watched America devour his. Where did he put it all? "So..."

"Huh?" America looked up, mouth full.

"So... what would you have done, if this were real?" Russia wasn't sure where the thought had come from, but he suddenly found himself with a strong desire to know.

America's face fell, as did Russia's stomach. Oh no. Crisis back! He shouldn't have asked that.

"If it wasn't real, what was it?" America prodded at a bit of remaining food.

Oh. He had misunderstood. Russia sighed. "Not the food. The situation."

"Ohh!" Much to his relief, America brightened back up, shoveling in another forkful. "You mean, if you had succeeded in unconsciousing me?"

Was that even a word? "Yes, that is what I mean."

"Oh, Idunno..." He shrugged one shoulder. "I guess, if you had actually knocked me out, and I woke up here, unable to leave, locked in that room... I guess I wouldn't be happy about it."

"You would try to escape?"

America rested his chin on one hand, looking amused. "Are you asking me to try and escape?"

"Um." Russia blinked. No, he had just been curious.

Still smiling broadly, America stood. "That was a delightful meal. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to relax in my room.

As he sauntered off, Russia let his head fall into his hands. Great. Now he had to keep his eyes open for America's attempted escape. And if his escape were successful, Russia had a feeling he would never hear the end of it.

* * *

"Hmm... What do I want..." Prussia leaned back in his chair, hands folded behind his head and feet propped up on the table before him. "I wouldn't mind being invited to some meetings."

England ran a hand down his face. "What meetings?"

Ruby eyes sparkled with... mischief? Delight? Whatever. "Any that West is invited to. For the next five years."

"No."

Prussia moved to stand, shrugging. "Fine. Doesn't matter much to _me_ if you never get America back. Oh sure, I'll lose a drinking buddy, but I've got others."

The other nations exchanged a look. "Two years," England said.

"Four."

"Three."

"Three and a half."

England rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. Now tell us what you know. And it had better be _good_, I am perfectly willing to go back on our deal."

"Don't get your eyebrows in a bunch, I'm getting to it." Prussia settled back down in his chair. "So I was hanging out outside when you guys were talking and acting all important-"

"In other words," England said, "you were spying on our meeting."

"Not spying! I was outside, I couldn't hear anything." Prussia huffed. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Get on with it," France said.

"Well, everybody was leaving after the meeting was over. And being as awesome as I am, I hid. To keep an eye on you guys, make sure you left safely."

"Right," Canada muttered.

"I had just gotten out of my hiding place, a little while after everyone had left, when one more person came out of the building. So I hid again." Prussia smirked. "And that person was Russia."

"Yes, we know that Russia was the last to leave," England said. The others nodded.

"He wasn't alone."

"America-san was with him?" Japan said, frowning.

"Russia denied seeing him after the meeting," Canada said.

"Doesn't surprise me," Prussia said, examining the nails of one hand. "America was slung over his shoulder, unconscious."

The other four nations exchanged a worried look. "Do you have proof?" England asked. That sounded a little far fetched. Russia was a bit... odd... but he wasn't a _villain_. And what would he want America for? England remembered how annoying Italy was as a captive, and couldn't _imagine_ what America would be like.

Prussia gave another unconcerned shrug. "I'm just telling you what I saw. You don't have to believe me. I'm too awesome to lie, though." He grinned. "The rest is up to you."

They watched Prussia saunter out, looking pleased with himself. They wondered what to think about this revelation.

"I think he is lying," Japan said. "He does not like Russia-san, and he is friends with America-san. You would think he would be a bit more..."

"Worried?" Canada said, chewing on his lower lip.

"Right."

"Did Russia sound like he was hiding something?" England said.

Canada paused for a thoughtful moment, and shook his head. "He sounded... well, tired, mostly. I probably woke him up."

"Woke him up?" France mused. "Like he was tired after a long night of doing something... or someone?"

"Oh, _shut it_, you disgusting creep," England said.

"It was early where he was," Canada said, looking panicked. "I don't think that means he was... er..."

"Well we can't exactly get an army together and storm Moscow without proof," England said.

"If we do," France said, rubbing his stubbled chin, "at least it's summer."

The agitated (and not at _all_ worried, no sir) British nation chose to ignore him. "We just need to find some evidence. Then we can take action. We need a spy." A slow smile crept over his face. "Somebody unnoticeable. Somebody Russia likes and won't treat terribly if he is caught." One by one, the nations turned.

Canada sighed at their expectant faces. "Fine, I'll go."


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Russia thought he would go mad from the anticipation. A couple days had passed since he had stupidly put the idea of escape into America's head. Since then, his 'captive' had acted like nothing had happened, spending his time eating with Russia, using him as an interpreter for television, chatting about random nonsense, blushing at the weirdest things, or spending time in his room.

He was half tempted to just let America leave when the time came. Or maybe one-fourth tempted or something. Possibly one-eighth, if only because now that he had America staying with him, the thought of him leaving was fairly unappealing. A friend living with him was what he had wanted, after all.

It was with relief one day that he finally saw America sneak upstairs, tongue poking out as he crept up the stairs under the impression that he was unobserved (maybe?). Thank goodness. Russia picked up the book he had been reading and wondered how long he should wait before 'catching' America.

He dropped the book in surprise when he heard a small crash from the entryway, along with America's muffled curse. Wait... America was good, but he wasn't _that_ good. He had just gone upstairs, what was he doing by the front door? Curious, Russia tiptoed closer, peeking into the room. He didn't want to be seen, ruining whatever bizarre plan America had concocted.

America was picking himself up, having tripped over the umbrella stand. Muttering to himself, he picked the overturned stand up, tossing umbrellas, canes, and pipes into it as quietly as he could, apologizing to the objects all throughout.

Russia blinked. Why was America apologizing to the umbrella stand?

And why was he wearing a maple leaf hoodie?

…

What was Canada doing breaking into Russia's house?

The intruder glanced around, and Russia ducked back around the wall. _Oh no_... Eyes widening, Russia suddenly found it hard to breathe. _Oh no. Oh no_. He tore up the stairs as quietly as he could, flinging open every door along the hallway until he located America, humming as he tied sheets together into one long rope. Russia flung himself at America just as he approached the window, who gave a surprised squawk as they tumbled to the floor together.

"R-Russia!" America gasped, and his own eyes grew big and round, color draining from his face. His look of terror doubled Russia's heart rate. "O-oh, hey. Um..." He looked around. "It's not what it looks like..."

Russia stared at him for a moment before his head drooped in relief. America was acting. Only acting. He wasn't actually terrified. And yes, now when Russia looked, he could see a pleased glimmer in the horrified blue eyes.

"That was kinda overdoing it a bit though, huh?" America added in a stage whisper.

"No, it's not that," Russia said, shaking his head. "You can't leave now." What if Canada had walked in on America's attempted escape?

What if he walked in on them _now_? Face red, Russia rolled off of America.

America remained on the floor, head tilted. "I'm confused. It's not that, but it is that?"

"Canada's here," Russia hissed.

"Really? Canada?" America grinned. "Why, I wonder what he's..." He trailed off with a scowl, eyes narrowing. "Why is Canada here?"

"He broke in! He's... he's looking for you." Russia started to pace, nibbling on a fingernail. "I told him. I'd forgotten about that, it was early."

"You _told_ him?"

"Not that you're here. He called because they're worried about you, and-"

"Really?" Another smile graced America's features. "They are?"

"Of course! What did you _think_ would happen after you just disappeared? I'm sure the world is starting to panic!"

"Ah... um, oh." America's face fell. "I guess I hadn't really thought about that."

"Worry about that later." Russia covered his face with his hands. "Canada called the other day, and it was early, and he asked if I had seen you and I said _no_..." He glanced over at the other man, wondering if he would have to explain just why that was a bad thing.

"Ohh." Much to Russia's relief, understanding dawned in America's face. "So if he found me here..."

"Exactly..." Russia leaned against the wall, while America finally rose to his feet. "They probably wouldn't believe you if you told the truth. They would think you had... what is it called..."

"Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Yes, that."

"Well, don't worry." America grinned. "It's a big place, he won't find me. I'll stay somewhere he would never expect me to be."

"Where is that?"

"Beats me. I'll go find it." America strolled off while Russia mentally pulled out his hair. And then Russia hurried out of the room, trying desperately to think of what incriminating America-related evidence he would have to hide before greeting his... guest.

* * *

Canada swallowed nervously, feeling like a terrible friend as he rummage through the sink. But his brother was more important. If he _was_ there...

_Two mugs_, he thought, picking one up to sniff at it. _Coffee. But that doesn't mean anything, lots of non-England people like coffee. Russia might like two cups. This might be a couple day's worth of dishes. It doesn't mean anything. _He sighed. _Or he could have just had a guest over. One of his sisters or something. I'm being paranoid._

Finding nothing particularly useful in the kitchen, Canada continued on through the large house that had grown considerably more intimidating since the last time he was there. Every once in a while he heard a noise and jumped, then reassured himself that the sound was coming from far off. Russia wasn't about to walk in on him. _If it turns out he's innocent, I'll have to send him something nice as an apology._ Canada smiled to himself. _Maybe Prussia. This is his fault, after all._

The various rooms weren't very interesting, either. A library, an old unused bedroom, a closet, and... a door that locked from the outside? Canada paused at that one, frowning. Why would a room lock from the hallway side? And with so many locks, too... Interesting. He tried the knob, and the door swung open. Canada's blood ran cold as he gaped at the interior.

A small bed that had been recently used, haphazardly made. A television. A shelf of American comic books. An attached bathroom, and only one tiny window, unsuitable for escape.

_Where is he_? Canada thought desperately as he took a few pictures of the room with the camera he had brought. _He's been here! Where is he now?_

But the small room remained unoccupied, save for Canada himself. Having acquired the evidence he needed for that room, he left, closing the door behind him. It hadn't been locked, so he left it unlocked, and hurried away. He would prefer a bit more solid evidence before he ran off to show the others—something belonging to America, perhaps—and even better if he could locate his brother, himself. _I'll find you! Please be safe!_

He turned a corner, and ran right into Russia with a squawk. His heart froze, blood draining from his face. _Oh nooo! I'm dead! Deaddeaddeaddead..._

Russia reached out to help Canada regain his balance. "Hello~ What are you doing here, Canada? I don't remember hearing the doorbell..."

"Oh, n-no?" Canada forced his lips into a wide grin. "Haha! I didn't even notice the doorbell. I just knocked, and you must have been too far away to hear because you didn't answer, so I just let myself in."

"Ah. I see." Russia patted Canada on the head. "I apologize for missing your knock. Would you like something to drink?"

"S-sure!"

And as they turned to head back into the kitchen, Canada's heart stopped again in sudden realization. _He... he called me Canada, without hesitation. Like he has reason to know there's no way I could be America..._

* * *

Russia tugged a bottle of water, as requested, from the refrigerator. He wondered if Canada could actually _hear_ his internal panic. It was so loud, surely he must. He shoved the water into his intruder's waiting hands, smiling what he hoped was a friendly smile. "So... What brings you all the way to Moscow?"

"Business!" Canada said quickly. Too quickly. His eyes were a little wild.

"I do not recall any business with you." If Russia was going to panic himself to a heart attack, may as well do the same for Canada...

"Not with you! But as long as I was in the neighborhood, I thought I would drop by." Canada's smile was rather strained. What a terrible liar.

"I see." How to get him the hell out without seeming obvious about it? Ah! "I actually have a meeting with my boss soon. I apologize, but maybe we can reschedule..." He had no intention of inviting America's brother back, but he couldn't very well say that.

"Oh! You do, huh?" Canada's eyes flicked nervously around. "Well, if you don't mind, I can wait for you. Maybe tidy up around here, do some chores for you...?"

Nice try. "Do not worry yourself. I do not know how long I will be, it would be best if you returned to your hotel."

"I do not mi-"

"I prefer not to have guests hanging around when I am gone," Russia said. "I hope you understand." He didn't really want to have to do anything drastic to Canada that involved faucet pipes or something along those lines. America would not be happy, probably. Russia held his breath.

_Finally_, success. With a sigh, Canada nodded. "Maybe I could use the bathroom first?"

Fortunately, the closest bathroom did not contain any of the toiletries America had been using. Probably. Russia nodded and led the way, glancing around to make sure the coast was clear as they walked. He could just see the idiot wander on by. Or come up with some stupid method of hiding, like mimicking Canada's actions from behind a window and pretending to be a mirror. He would do something like that.

But they did not run into him between kitchen and bathroom. Russia flicked the light on and swept a quick gaze around, finding nothing incriminating. He gave Canada a friendly nod. "Right in there."

It would seem too creepy for him to hover _too_ close to the bathroom, so Russia wandered down the hallway, waiting. _Just leave... just go home. Don't take him away..._

Russia sagged against the wall when he realized he _really_ needed to convince America to go home. He was just going to get in serious trouble with the rest of the world, most likely sooner rather than later. And even if he didn't, America had his own country to deal with, and everyone was worried...

The thought of America leaving was unappealing, to say the least. But... well, maybe once this mess was cleared up, America could come over for _real_ visits. That everyone else knew about.

Russia sighed, listening to the innocent sounds from the bathroom—toilet flush, sink run, door open—and Canada stepped out, smiling. "All right. I'll be heading back to my hotel now."

"Very well."

Russia had no way of knowing that, when he glanced into the bathroom, he had completely overlooked the pair of Old Glory boxers mixed in with his own laundry pile. He also had no way of knowing that those boxers were gone now. He was just happy that Canada was leaving without a fuss, and he could go find America.


	5. Chapter 5

_I don't _think_ there's too much left to this fic. :D Few more chapters? Maybe? Guh. An utterly miserable and upsetting Hetalia Day spent treated like an outcast has... almost soured me on the fandom in general. ^^; It's always fans that ruin things for me..._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Canada had left nearly an hour ago, and Russia _still_ hadn't found America. It had occurred to him many times that it was likely America could have made his daring escape, but... well, even _he_ wasn't that stupid, was he? He knew he had to hide from Canada, and he knew Russia would be too preoccupied to foil his plans. No, he had probably just found a good hiding spot and fell asleep.

Russia had new respect for England.

He had waited a half hour to start shouting his name, making sure Canada wasn't anywhere nearby. He scoured every inch of the place with no luck.

Russia was starting to wonder if he was wrong, if America _was_ that stupid, and had gleefully escaped while his captor was preoccupied.

Then he remembered the attic.

It was small, dark, cobwebby, and creepy. It most certainly was the last place anyone would think to look for America. And it was the only place Russia had not checked, so with a resigned sigh, he headed that way.

Standing below the attic entrance, Russia frowned. No... surely America wouldn't have gone up there and closed the door. He _must_ have run off. But it was the only place left, Russia _had_ to check... "America? Are you up there?" He waited a moment, but there was no response. Surely he would have answered if he were there. But with another sigh, Russia tugged the door open and climbed up the narrow ladder, until he emerged in the small room. He peered around in the dim light, coughing when he inhaled a bit too much dust.

"R-Russia...?" a voice squeaked. "Is that really you?"

Russia uttered a surprised curse. "You _are_ up here? Why didn't you answer me?"

A quivering mound in the corner turned, dim light reflecting off glasses. "I thought it might be another ghost..."

Russia scooted closer, pushing aside the box wall America must have been using as protection. "_Another _ghost?"

America nodded, huddling deeper into the dusty old blanket he had found. "I'm sure I saw one."

"America..." Russia couldn't help but smile, shaking his head. "What possessed you to hide up _here_?"

He knew that had been the wrong way to phrase it the second it left his mouth. "Possessed!" America yelped.

"I don't mean literally. Why did you hide up here? It's a big house, there are other hiding spots Canada wouldn't have looked."

"I wanted to make sure," America said, sounding almost sulky. "I don't want to get you in trouble. How did that go?"

"Oh, he still suspects me." Russia sighed again, then reached out for America. "Come on. Let's go down."

America gave an enthusiastic nod, taking Russia's hand and clinging to him as they returned to the ladder. He scampered down first, eager to escape the attic, and Russia followed with a helpless chuckle.

"Don't laugh..." America scowled, though the glare lost a bit of its terror with his violent shivering.

"I'm not laughing at you." Russia plucked some cobweb out of America's hair. "That was very nice of you, to hide in the attic for my sake."

"Oh." America rubbed the back of his neck. "Well hey. That's what heroes are for, right?" He inched closer, lowering his voice. "You'll sleep with me tonight, won't you?"

Russia's face heated. "R-right. So you can protect me, yes?"

"Yes. And you better not fall asleep first."

"I won't." Russia swallowed thickly. What had he been wanting to talk about? Oh, right... "Um." He licked his lips. "But maybe tomorrow... it would be best if you went home."

America drew back as if he had been slapped, eyes widening. "You want me to leave?"

"No!" Russia said with a violent shake of his head. "I do not. But it might be best if you did." He sighed heavily. "They suspect me, and it is only a matter of time before you are discovered here. And I will be in serious trouble. Or, on the slight chance that they believed you, you would be in serious trouble. Not nearly as much as I would be, but I still do not think you would like it."

America winced. "I suppose so..."

"And you have a job to do. And everybody is worried."

"Yeah..."

"And you can come right back once everything is straightened away. On a normal visit."

"True..."

"You will have to come up with a plausible excuse for disappearing." Russia paused. "_We_ will have to come up with a plausible excuse."

America shrugged. "I can just say I got wasted right after the meeting, and woke up in Tijuana."

"Oh." Russia blinked. "They would believe that?"

"Yes. Yes they would."

"Maybe we can think a bit more about your excuse..."

"Oh. Okay." America raked a hand through his hair. "Why all the concern, anyway? You wouldn't worry about any of this if you _had_ kidnapped me. They still would have worried about me and suspected you and investigated, and I'd still have work I needed to do, and..."

Russia no longer had the slightest idea what he would be doing if his kidnapping attempt had been successful. To be honest, he hadn't really thought about those sorts of repercussions. He supposed he probably should have. "I don't know. But I didn't succeed. I'll kidnap you again once everyone knows we are friends, okay?"

"It won't be the same. This time, the attempt was real."

Russia lost a little of his newfound respect for England. Clearly the man had frequently dropped his colonies on their fragile little heads.

"Don't look at me like that!" America gave Russia a light shove. Which for him was a heavy shove from anybody else, and Russia stumbled back. "It's been fun. I don't know why!" America's cheeks reddened. They had been doing that a lot lately, from the strangest things. "I like being here..."

And Russia felt his face heat up again. "I do, too." He rather liked the idea of America returning later as a _normal_ guest.

"Say." Face turning an alarming shade of red, America cleared his throat. "If you _had_ kidnapped me, would you have... you know... done... stuff?"

Stuff. Judging by the worst blush Russia had ever seen on the man, he could guess what that 'stuff' was. "Ah..."

"Well?" America sidled closer.

"I, uh..." Oh lord. Would he have? No! Of course not! Not if America was a... an unwilling prisoner... no, no. "I would n-"

His denial was cut off by America's lips, and his brain killed the engine and tossed away the key.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thanks for the nice words everyone, you guys are awesome. :)_

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

The trio of nations huddled over the digital camera, flipping through pictures.

"I can't deny it," England said, sounding vaguely ill. "That definitely looks like a set-up for keeping America confined."

"And it _is_ unusual for him—or anyone—to immediately address you as 'Canada'." France folded his arms. "But if _Amérique_ is being kept prisoner there, why wasn't he in his room?"

"He must have been _somewhere_ Russia could keep tabs on him," England said. "Or else he would have still thought Canada was America."

All four exchanged a worried look. Canada wondered if he was the only one plagued by mental images of dungeons and chains and other unhappy things.

"It's still not definite proof..." Japan said finally.

Canada bit his lip. "There's more. I found this on the bathroom floor, with some other laundry." He tugged out the star-spangled boxers he had stolen, tossing them onto the hotel room table. Japan winced, and England covered his mouth with a hand.

"They might be Russia's," France suggested.

Canada shook his head. "I doubt it. They're my size."

"Maybe they're yours, then."

"Mine?" Canada blinked at France. "Why would _I_ have American flag underwear, and why would they be on _Russia's_ bathroom floor?"

"You tell me."

England elbowed France hard in the ribs. "I'd say we have at least enough evidence to make a formal accusation."

"Now?" Canada asked hopefully. He wanted to get his brother out of there as soon as possible. Who knew what horrors he was being faced with!

England looked at each of them in turn. Canada could practically see the gears in his head turning, wishing their numbers were a bit stronger. But none of them wanted to take the time to return home, round up the other nations, make a formal declaration, _then_ go rescue America...

"Yes," England said. "Now."

* * *

Russia couldn't quite remember how it had happened, but their first sudden kiss had led them to the couch, and though America was sprawled beneath him he wasn't entirely sure who was in charge. It was America who had first nibbled and licked at Russia's lips, demanding entrance. It was America who had gripped Russia by the scarf, tugging him even closer. And he was pretty sure it was America who had dragged them to the couch. Which must have been quite a feat, because they _had_ been upstairs by the attic door, and now they were down in the living room, and Russia had no recollection of how they had managed that.

It finally occurred to Russia that one of the things he liked so much about America was that they were _equals_. Not that America was _dominant_. Happily, America seemed willing to temporarily relinquish control, and Russia tangled a hand in the short golden hair and attacked his mouth.

And _then_ it occurred to Russia that... well, that he was _making out with America_. What had led to _that_? As he explored every inch of America's mouth, jaw, and neck, Russia found himself wondering. Okay, so yes, he... well, yes, he did like the other nation, and... America did blush a lot when they were together! How long had he liked Russia? Before this whole thing started? Was that why he had been so eager to be 'kidnapped' by him? Or had he only realized his feelings while staying with him? Or... or did America just have some weird kidnapping fetish, and this really was some bizarre form of Stockholm Syndrome?

Did any of that really matter? They liked each other and they were kissing. That was the here and now, the important part. They could hammer out the details after...

After... after what? Russia broke the kiss, breathing heavily as he looked down at America, who was already rather fetchingly disheveled. "Um. Do you... want to...?"

"Sounds good." America tugged Russia's head back down, and the war began anew.

Then, _then_ it struck Russia how they must look. His larger body hovering over America, holding him down (not that he really was, but it probably looked that way), kissing him hard...

And Canada was still in the city. Possibly not alone. And could return at any time.

America gave an undignified squawk of protest when Russia flung himself away, off the couch, straightening his clothes as he went. "What? Where are you going?" America propped himself up on his elbows, a frown marring his cutely flushed face, glasses crooked.

It was hard to not pounce back onto him. Russia cleared his throat. "Someone might walk in..."

"I can be on top."

"I know, but that's not the poi-"

"The door's locked, isn't it?"

"It was locked when your brother came in, too."

"Oh." America let out a heavy sigh of disappointment.

"We... we should probably wait." Russia tried to keep a calm facade, but he was feeling just as frustrated as America looked, and doubted he was very successful. "Better if we saved this sort of thing for when the others know we're... um..."

They looked at each other for a moment, then both finished the sentence at the same time.

"Not enemies."

"Together."

Russia blinked. He decided he likes America's version better. "Or together. Right."

"Well, you know..." America stood up from the couch, looking around. "I can see how doing stuff in the living room might be a bad idea when someone could break in and misunderstand. But what about a bedroom?"

Damn. Why did he have to press the issue? Russia firmly fixed in his mind the mental image of Canada and whoever else, bursting in on them, accusing Russia of kidnapping and rape, and dragging him off to lock him up forever, and...

"We really shouldn't," Russia said. "Not until it's safe."

"Come on." America grinned. "We'll be okay in your bedroom. Why would they look there?"

"Um..." Russia coughed, fiddling with the ends of his scarf. "Following the noises?"

"I can be quiet! Anyone who spent puberty and adolescence sharing a room with his brother knows how to have a silent good time."

"That's... that's good... but I still don't think-"

"We'll be fine."

"Well..." It was growing harder to protest, the mental image of the jail cell he would spend the rest of eternity fading from his mind. "Maybe..."

America took a step closer, and Russia unconsciously backed away. There was something in those blue eyes, in the way the light reflected off his glasses, that kind of alarmed him. Just a little. The fact that America looked more amused than anything else didn't help _too_ much.

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you upstairs," America said cheerfully, reaching for Russia.

"W-wait, America... wait! _Stop!_"

It was probably a good thing that, of all the times for America's rescue team to burst in, they had chosen America slinging Russia over his shoulder and marching toward the stairs, laughing.


	7. Chapter 7

_Bah. I must have rewritten this chapter like three times, and I'm _still _not happy with it. Ah well..._

_Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine._

* * *

Russia mentally cursed—and Russian was quite good for venting one's frustration with swearing—when he heard the rapidly approaching footsteps. More than one, definitely. Who it was, he had no idea, for the only thing he could really see at the moment was America's ass.

"A-America!" gasped the confused voice that sounded like a quieter version of the nation in question. Canada. This was all his fault, Russia wouldn't be forgetting him again any time soon. "Um... let's save him!"

"Which one?" said a perplexed British voice.

"America, of course!"

"He has apprehended _Russie_," said a French voice, sounding a little unsure.

"Put me down," Russia hissed, but he went ignored.

"Hey, guys!" America said, all cheerful and innocent. "What's up?"

"Put me down!"

"What's... what's going on?" Canada said. The voices were drawing ever closer. Russia squirmed.

America gave a nervous laugh. "Um... you guys aren't supposed to be here! Go away."

Russia was in a perfect position to spank the idiot. Too bad they had witnesses.

"We aren't going anywhere!" England said, much too close for Russia's comfort. "Tell us what the hell is going on. We came here to rescue _someone_."

"What? Rescue? What are you talking about?"

America finally set Russia down, and Russia promptly moved behind the other nation. Not because he was _hiding_ from the others, he—oh hell, he wasn't the one who had to be the big brave hero all the time. He was hiding from them. Four of them stood there, gaping at America in utter bafflement, and Russia felt a brief flicker of solidarity. _Welcome to my world_.

England ran a hand down his face. "If one of you doesn't tell us what the hell you two are doing here in the next five seconds..."

Russia thought desperately for an excuse that wouldn't incriminate both of them. Thought quickly, before America had a chance to speak and screw everything up even more-

"Well," America drawled, "what do you _think_ we'd be doing here secretly in late June?"

Too late.

The other nations, managing to look even more confused, exchanged a look.

"I... I don't know, America-san," Japan said.

America heaved a dramatic sigh. "Planning a surprise birthday party, duh!"

England blinked. "Planning... a surprise birthday party... For whom, pray tell? France? Surely not yourself..."

Canada paused in his bafflement at his brother to level a glare at England. "Mine comes first!"

"Oh, right..."

America nodded. "For Canada. Everyone's always forgetting his birthday, so we've been planning a big one!"

Russia forced himself to smile along, even as he mentally strangled America. Who would believe something like _that_? It had to be the dumbest...

Canada... Canada was smiling. And there were tears in his eyes.

Oh dear lord, there were two of them.

"Wait, wait, wait." England folded his arms. "Why come _here_ to plan it, hm?"

"So you'd be less likely to walk in on the plans," America said. "I guess that didn't work..."

France scratched his head. "So... why were you carrying Russia off just now?"

Russia again tried to think of a believable excuse. And again, nothing came to mind before America spoke up.

"We were going to have sex."

Oh.

The other nations' jaws dropped. Except France's, he just chuckled.

"What?" America said. "We have to take a break in the planning sometimes."

"So..." England said weakly. "So... when Prussia says he saw Russia carrying you off after the meeting..."

Russia's eyes narrowed. So it wasn't Canada's fault. Prussia... they would have words later...

"Same thing!" America said cheerfully. "It was going to be a long ride to the airport before an even longer flight, so we were gonna enjoy the ride. Car sex! It's fantastic."

"You don't have to tell _me_," France said with a grin. Well... at least they seemed to be sort of buying it? And now they were free to... be together, so that was good.

"What about the room?" Japan said, and the other three immediately snapped back into seriousness.

"Yes, do explain that," England said. "The little room with all the locks and the America-like setup inside."

Canada nodded. "It looked like somewhere one would keep you captive!"

"Captive?" America gasped, and Russia mentally smacked his forehead. Sometimes he could be a good actor. Sometimes, not so much. "Where did you get that idea? That's just my room! I mean, we can't be boinking 24/7, sometimes I need my space."

"It locks from the outside!"

"It's always been that way! I do believe the room style dates from his commie days, he had issues then."

Russia scowled. Oh, come on...

"So..." Canada's smile returned. "You're really going to all this work to plan a party for me?"

"Sounds fishy," Russia heard England mutter to France. Japan looked doubtful as well. It seemed only Canada really believed that story.

"Of course, bro! So forget all about this conversation, okay?"

"You bet!" And Canada actually started dragging the other three away. The one Russia had been mad at before had become his savior, eager to leave so they could get back to their plans.

Russia mentally cursed some more. Now they had to come up with an elaborate birthday party!

"Wha-" Russia was once again cut off by America's mouth on his own, and he decided he wasn't really going to complain. The dumbest lie in history had worked, and they were once again alone, to resume what had been interrupted. And now it was known that he and America were lovers (well, not_ really_, not yet) so they could do whatever they wanted.

Russia placed his hands on America's waist to draw him closer, kissing deeply, more tenderly than last time. He hadn't realized how much their close call had scared him, the thought of America being taken away and kept from him forever... Working on autopilot, his hands gripped the fabric there, untucking America's shirt from his pants, pulling it upward. America relinquished his lips, raising his arms to allow Russia to pull the shirt free and toss it aside. America returned the favor, and soon they were both stripped to the waist, golden tan skin pressed against pale white, and they were attacking each other's lips again, hands feeling up as much skin as possible.

But they had to pause for air eventually. "That was a horrible excuse you came up with," Russia panted, smiling at his soon-to-be-lover.

"Hey, I had to think quick!" America smirked. "I didn't hear you coming up with anything better."

"Now we have to plan a party!"

"Ah, that's okay. Canada should get a nice birthday once in a while, don't you think?"

"At least now they know you're here... And we don't have to worry about your family and their ridiculous accusations of kidnapping."

America laughed. "Dude. You _did_ try to kidnap me."

"That's beside the point."

"Uh... guys..." Canada's voice emerged from the kitchen. "We're still here..."

Russia's entire body went rigid. They had gone into the kitchen? He could have sworn they had actually left... He stared down at America, whose horrified expression mirrored his.

"Oh..." Russia said. "Oh, _fuck_."


End file.
